


anyways

by otomedomoyo



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Female Pronouns for Arashi Narukami, Kissing, M/M, No Beta, also uhh fuck you man i do what i want, aramika in the background, one suicide mention uwah, post grad, yeah this is so surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otomedomoyo/pseuds/otomedomoyo
Summary: A lost cassette tape, and there's only one person who would have a cassette player.





	anyways

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey did u miss me no u didn't I don't beta my WORKS hi. this is was thrown together in my fit of sadness please like it I just want kuroshu to hold hands. on a side note I kinda hate adding the u's in the tags. make me uncomfortable

“Thank ya, again, Oshi-san.”

Shu doesn't deign this with an answer, as he slowly begins to unpack the, rather small, amount of boxes Mika has taken since he’s moved out. He rummages and places down papers Mika has saved, even Polaroid photographs, which Shu didn't even notice he had a camera for. He begins swiping through the pictures he can find, he doesn’t prefer to be snoopy—but curiosity killed the cat, after all.

Mika steps out to get another box and bring it into the kitchen. Mika peeks over the countertop to watch Shu, however. Who's filing through the Polaroids still with a solemn, distant look on his face. Mika lets out a soundless sigh, before looking back once more at the hunched figure, trench coat trailing on the empty birch floors.

“I didn't know you were precariously involved in photography, Kagehira. I would’ve let you indulge more.” Shu idly comments, flicking past another photograph, sappy in the sense it's a blonde head of hair Shu can recognize as that Narukami girl who has enraptured Mika’s heart.

“Ah, it's nothin’ important, Oshi-san. Anzu-chan and Naru-chan helped out a lot! Nothin’ to fret over, ya know?”

Shu looks wordlessly at Mika before resuming the filing. There's a lot of pictures, and when Shu thinks he's finished he never quite is, as there's more in the box. He's given up putting them back, and surrounds himself with the imagery. The storm outside has become all too apparent, Mika closes the apartment door with the last of the boxes brought into the foyer.

“You enjoy yourself, at Yumenosaki, Kagehira. The foolish choices of your seniors have left a lasting impact, nonetheless do not allow it to control your youth,” Shu pauses, and Mika looks oddly confused before he continues, “Where did you get this one?”

The image he holds has a red border, the quality is dyed orange but the colour remains in hints. A hand is holding a cassette tape, a scrawl is written across the title bar: Icchan. Shu’s hands shake, not noticeably, but Mika thinks he's aware of his mentor’s action more than most.

“Ah! I think that's from, uh, Kiryu-senpai. Y’know him, ya? Yer childhood friend?”

“I assure you, I know him, Kagehira. Where is this tape?”

Mika twiddles his thumbs, a gesture of self comfort as he fumbles for the words. “Well, Oshi-san. It was, uh, earlier. Kiryu-senpai was thinkin’, an’ he asked me to give you that, uh, tape,” Mika looks down once more, “it felt a little weird givin' it to ya, mentorship an’ all… So I never did.”

“The tape, Kagehira.”

“I-I don’t know, Oshi-san. It should be in one of these boxes. But that’s a lot of unpackin’ an I don't think yer tryin’ to stay long if Naru-chan stops by.”

Shu sighs, before pocketing the photograph. “She is not a nuisance, only overbearing in her own right.”

Mika smiles at that, before setting to a certain box. “Ah’ve got a good feelin’ about this box! So let’s find this tape, Oshi-san!”

They set to work for the next few hours, rummaging and unpacking Mika’s belongings, the storm outside only growing more disastrous. Mika and Shu works consistently, growing until the arrival of Arashi. 

“Mika-chan! How I've missed you!” She plants an obnoxious kiss on Mika’s cheek, Mika can only laugh and hug her back. “Ah! Oshi-san!” She moves for a gracious hug, Shu stops before she continues, opting for a pat of her head and shoulder.

They exchange their greetings, and eventually, the three resume unboxing until the final box, one of which Arashi generously explained was from _her_ house, of which Mika turned a fair shade of red and immediately intended to force her to stop as, ‘Oshi-san doesn’t need my life story, Naru-chan!’ Shu could connect the dots easily enough, but chose not to comment.

Arashi takes it upon herself to unpack it, an apology for coming late. She takes the clothes into Mika’s room, and returns to pull out a box of cassette tapes.

“Ara! Mika-chan I nearly forgot how loving all of these tapes were! I could faint!”

Mika looks bashfully away, commenting on how they’re really nothing, something about how she's special to him. Shu can’t decipher the rest, however. He’s become hyper focused on the box Arashi carries. 

“Narukami, allow me to put it away, you two should start eating. Relieve me of one thorn of my night by avoiding the sentimental and ‘gushy’ romanticism.”

Arashi hands him the box none too kindly, she may have taken his second statement too harshly, but Shu takes the box and quickly moves to Mika’s room, closing the door behind him. In a rush of movement he throws the cassettes on the empty mattress, digging into the pile and lifting one's titled ‘Arashi <3’ and ‘Naru-chan!!’ followed by a plethora of hearts.

Eventually, he finds the tape. It's beaten and old, and he pockets it quickly into his coat. Mika doesn't have a cassette player, so he assumes all of these were played within the confines of Arashi’s house. Shu doesn't find himself close enough to her to visit her personal abode, so he opts to clean his scrimmage with the cassettes and step out. Arashi and Mika are eating when he exits the hallway, he moves to put on his shoes.

“Oshi-san, aren't ya goin’ to eat?”

“Kagehira, as I age I don't believe it would be ideal to eat consistently large amounts.”

Arashi covers her mouth, giggling, “Who are you, Sakuma-senpai? Have a bite, Oshi-san, I insist.”

Shu seats himself stiffly, Arashi and Mika continue as Shu eats. He’s not eavesdropping, he just prefers to listen when eating. It’s calm as the storm continues, until Shu hears a sentence uttered.

“Isn't he going to the states? I thought Kiryu-senpai was going too?”

Shu feels himself snap into his body, his vigor to find out restored. “What on earth are you on about? Kiryu doesn't have reason to go there.”

“Oshi-san, didn’t you find out? Little birdies told me Kiryu-senpai was flying out to the st-”

And with that, Shu flings himself out of Mika’s appartment. He feels himself grow incredibly dizzy and as he presses the button for the elevator, he deems the wait too long and groggily pushes into the stairwell exit. He grips the railing, he desperately craves a blanket, his trenchcoat isn't viable as a protection anymore. His hands itch through his gloves and reaching another floor down, he only wishes to fall on the ground. He swears he hears Mika calling out for him, but Shu believes he's too many floors down to be noticed from the top floors. 

He slumps, the cassette in his pocket has grown heavy, a burden he doesn't want to hold onto anymore. He reaches in and feels around the cassette, the edges are foreign to his gloves and he wants to crunch it to pieces. But he stops himself, his nausea hasn't faded but he’s grown accustomed to moving when nauseous. He continues down the stairs, breaching the lobby and taking a gasp of air. People look in his direction as he unceremoniously moves out the doors. 

Earlier than he expected, he breaks into a sprint. He could see the lights from the area Kuro had grown up from Mika’s appartment window, he never quite learned the name but he could find that area in the dark. Rain showered against his body, he can feel how his hair slowly becomes more and more of a wet disaster on his head, his trenchcoat much the same, and his turtleneck is joining the fray. He breaches a bridge, and nostalgia delivers a sucker punch to his abdomen, and perhaps it isn't nostalgia as much as it is his exhaustion. The crosswalks he sprinted through, the traffic he evaded just to reach the bridge that lead over the streets below, a place so familiar. 

He pulls out his phone, clicking it open. The time is rather late, 10:44 blinks in LED on the screen. He closes it out, holding onto the railing, the lights remind him of a Valkyrie live. And he holds an arm up. He was never able to address the crowds, but maybe the lack of one here assists his monologue, the lack of eyes on him powers his energy through the rain. 

“From here on out, I only chased the cheering of the crowd when I walked out, but I can only stop here tonight and not see what you might think of me now. I know rewinding to what we once were is impossible, and I understand what we went through and how we endured it, but if I had known sooner I threw you into the same agony I suffered in likeness I would have never done it! I ripped every butterfly in my stomach out for you, in the idea that you would've done the same! If this cassette twists the fates and bears the fruition I never sought before would it have been worth it? Would your escapism from this dreaded place been the reason my youth was torn once again, in the way Tenshouin had once did?!” 

Shu’s throat feels incredibly raw, the rain hitting his body trenches the rest of his clothing. It's a miracle his phone and wallet are still surviving. He released his grip on the bars, aware of how tight it was. He shoves his hands into his pockets and begins to run again, the rush of the moment makes his long-forgotten nausea return in spades, but he’ll be damned if he doesn't power through it.

The buildings around him begin to lose their modern quality, and the cement starts to lose it's quality. The cracks become eminent and he passes a convenience shop with blinking LED letters, they’re buzzing out of life, the rain has also slowed at this point, so far out. A young girl steps out, she's holding bright pink umbrella in her right, a bag of waters in her left. Her hair is black, her figure perhaps a little chubby, and her skin is unevenly tanned, a spray tan, he assumes.

“Icchan?” 

“Imouto-san?”

She looks dismissive at the title, not that he wasn't either, it's apparent she wants to be trusted as older. Shu stares for awhile longer, before he’s struck by the gravity of seeing Kuro’s little sister again. He smiles sheepishly, something uncommon that feels foreign on his face, before waving goodbye and continuing to run. 

The concrete on the roads has now grown consistently cracked, and his clothes are beginning to dry off. He's not actively panting but he’s _definitely_ going to feel the weight of this run later on. Hopefully in his bed once he realises maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

She looks back at the disappearing figure, slowly moving as the run decreases. She turns the other way. Her hair moving with the motion, following the old streetlights all the way down. 

And maybe this was hopeless, perhaps what has broken cannot be mended but Shu aches and yearns for the chance of return. Maybe without Kuro, he wouldn't make it for the next few years. The artful suicide he so graciously offered all that time ago, but he couldn't lose this forever, he couldn't allow this to melt from his fingertips as a useless fugitive any longer. He couldn't lose this, it's hurt more than he’d believe, he would only go so far for this. 

And when he sees that old house, and hears the familiar slam of a screen door. His flicks his phone on to view the 11:02 in blue light. He moves to knock on the sliding door, but hesitates. Would this have been worth it? Did the thrash of the waves against his chest, the rabid butterflies that flutter and beat in his stomach, how the cassette burns and sears into his pocket, it’s become impossibly heavy and he can't bear to keep it hidden. His hand closes around it, it feels like it burns through his glove, and the nausea returns. He feels raindrops drip onto his shoulders and ears, regaining some sense of awareness. It’s demoralizing for him to continue standing, but the aged area around him throws him into not only nostalgia but that prominent dizziness that's throws him into a hurricane. 

Shu holds his head in his hands, he's not sure how loud he groans but his mind feels in shambles, he sharply inhales, moving forward and straightening out his trenchcoat and fumbling with his turtleneck. 

He knocks.

It's resounding, like the bells of Notre Dame. He can’t muster the feeling to speak, his throat is lodged and Shu is feeling the slipping of his coherent speech. He hears the thumps of footsteps coming towards the door. He’s not sure who it is, usually more keen on observation, until he's met with the few inches between himself and a rather messy head of kuro. 

“Itsuki?”

His voice and groggy, Shu can still recognize it, but since graduation they still haven't quite breached speaking terms. Shu lets out a breath he didn't know he held in, before closing his gloved hand around the cassette. He feels like he’s dreaming, Kuro shuffles awkwardly before opening up the doorway, a humble sign of welcome. 

“If I had known you would come by, I would've cleaned up—”

“It's nothing to keep in mind, it doesn't matter, I've never really cared should your abode be too unkempt”

Kuro doesn’t respond to that statement. But he does move to turn on the lights, his little sister’s hair seen curled on the couch—passed out since Shu last saw her not twenty minutes ago—Kuro apparently doesn't view Shu as worthy for a cup of tea, so he opts to bring them both water.

“Are you going to talk about why yer in my house, so late at night?”

Shu feels his hand twitch, he had grown from his lack of dependency on Mademoiselle, but how he craves her comforting presence. She may be absent, but Shu’s mental health was definitely better, so why would it matter if this ended in a dumpster fire? Oh, how he wished to recluse from this conversation. Kuro looks expectantly at Shu, Shu notices the movement of black hair in the corner of his eye. Shu’s gaze falters from Kuro, and he reaches into his pocket before placing the aged cassette down. 

Kuro’s eyes flash with recognition, a strong hand pushing his bangs back, and reaching down to pick up the cassette. Shu feels as if he's opened a dam of emotions, that he simply smashed through the walls with a battering ram and left the debris laying around for Kuro to collect. 

Kuro runs his hands over the tape, before turning to the couch. “Oi, head up to bed.” The mop of hair stands, glowering in their general direction before making for the stairs, begrudgingly groaning until a firm ‘click!’ is heard. 

“I wish you hadn't found this.”

“Well, it would be rather disappointing for me to have run all this way to bring this accursed tape, hear of your _need_ to go attend somewhere in the states! Kiryu, I am not a simple man, and our terms may not be clear but allow me the pleasure of knowing these things, at least before those younger than us.”

Kuro looks up solemnly, clearly recognizing what Shu is saying. Shu begins to take off his trenchcoat, it's become unnecessary to wear it in the comfort of Kuro’s home. 

“Do ya want to know? You're intelligent, haven't ya connected the damn dots?”

Shu blanks, pursing his lips and considering his next statement. “Whether I had or hadn't is irrelevant, I would like to listen to it with you. Unless you think me so shallow as to toss this tape, Kiryu.”

Kuro only sighs, turning to dig for a cassette player, as of course Kuro would have something so dated. Kuro moves to sit next to Shu, however. A gesture which makes Shu incredibly conscious of how tight his turtleneck is around his neck, and Kuro’s radiating warmth. Kuro pops in the lonely tape, but he freezes when his hand hovers over the play and pause.

“Itsuki,” he begins, “I want us to change, maybe in not the same way yer picturing in that artist’s mind. ‘Course you'd find this during not only a growing time of my life after graduation, but ya came all the way, an for what? I ‘unno, I'm worried. Yer gettin’ better, that freaky doll isn't around anymore, but I—I can't bring m’self to think yer tryin’ to bring somethin’ you want from this.”

Shu can admit, he's rather selfish. A lion in his own comfort and a mouse in public he understands Kuro’s ideas. But here he is, nodding along. He places his hand over Kuro’s much larger one, and presses play.

The film rolls.

_Icchan. Hi. Ah’ve never quite done somethin like this before, I’m hoping I burn this up later, because I can't stop thinkin’ about yet cologne, how you always ensure such a tough love against Kagehira. You’ve got a lot to give, and maybe I don't understand none of it. But did our sparring glances really have no energy? I—I’m not sure. I hope it did, ya got a lot I think I like? S’ hard to articulate, yakno. I don't think I'm doing a good job confessin’, somethin’ you could scold me about, lovingly. Well, Icchan. Here's to ya never hearin’ this. It's ruin me and you, alike._

Shu looks up, Kuro has gotten awfully red in the ears hearing something he knows he did. Shu precariously folds his hands, looking into the bottomless well that's his empty glass of water. Shu's view is morphing around his thoughts. Kuro's presence is warmer now, assuredly embarrassed from his pre-recorded love confession. And that's just the thing, the feeling would never fade. Just as the bond between Nazuna and Shu was torn, Shu and Nazuna still held that care. No matter their status as “Traitor” and “Itsuki”. They still worried and cared, and maybe Kuro never stopped either. Their childhood isn't something to be erased, the years before the dreaded war can't be forgotten. The bond, the connection felt although it wasn't known what it was they can't live past that. The string of fate between them like obsidian, black and tainted, but nearly impenetrable. 

Shu can’t quite formulate his wording. His hands twitch against his trousers, he lays them flat but they return to clench and shiver. How he wishes he didn't think himself so foolish to leave Mademoiselle behind! The words hanging in between them forces Shu to pick and preen at the collar of his turtleneck, he can hear her voice pound in his ears. He lets out a shaky breath, swallowing dryly. There's a sigh from the silence of Kuro before he offers to help Shu stand, and offers to walk him home.

If Shu was a stronger man, perhaps less focused on spinning a narrative against the velvet sky of life, he would have said no. 

Shu pulled his trenchcoat on once more, it doesn't feel that long of a wait since he took it off, but he doesn't bother to fasten the buttons or belt. His mind is a chaotic windstorm, and the idea of walking home in silence, since the time it took to come here from Kagehira’s place, he’d rather not. Shu moves to the cassette player as Kuro steps out of the room, taking the tape, he pockets it once more. When Kuro returns, Shu inadvertently avoids eye contact, and if Kuro’s hand brushes against his when he reaches for the door, well, it wasn't his fault. 

They step in the coolness of night before Kuro runs back inside and up the stairs. Shu can hear faint giggling before Kuro groans and turns away. Perhaps Kuro and his sister have gotten better about independence with one another, but Shu wasn’t around to see it. He wasn't around for much the last year, was he? How quaint.

They begin their journey once Kuro closes the door behind them. The permanent chase that Shu is so painfully familiar with, ensues. They could've killed time, but Kuro walks a few steps ahead no matter the case. Shu can’t read minds, and while he's sure Kuro is _embarrassed_ about the whole thing, but Shu’s idealistic vision of this encounter isn't quite matching to the reality. The rain has stopped, but droplets are falling that Shu can feel uncomfortably land on his face.

Kuro stops in front of the convenience store Shu Gad saw his sister in, Kuro looks back at Shu who’s oddly trailing behind. Maybe akin to a stray cat, but nonetheless Shu has begun petting the tape in his pocket like it's Mademoiselle’s hair, he craves some salvation for this night. The walk is slower when Kuro continues, Shu assumes he's waiting for him to catch up, but after running all this way he’d rather not come to terms with the workout when his deodorant is probably running dry. 

Kuro doesn't look anywhere besides forward, and although Shu doesn't pride himself on being able to read body language, he feels like the stiffness of Kuro’s arms while they walk only means he’s uncomfortable to linger in the silence of this thickening walk. 

They reach that familiar bridge, the one that's over the street traffic of the rushing reality below. They climb the stairs, opting to move over, Kuro moves ahead. He reaches the middle of the footbridge before Shu musters up the courage to call out to him in a hopeless effort.

“Kiryu, I,” he begins, reaching out to grab at Kuro’s wrist, which Shu can feel him his physically tense. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you such an indescribable mortification at the greed for our, companionship.” He looks away from Kuro at the street below. Less than an hour ago he made a speech about coming for his lost love, but here it is once again, slipping from his hands.

“Itsuki.” Shu takes into account Kuro has never been quite as poetic, but he’s sure Kuro can formulate a proper rejection, Shu turns to face him. “It's not that I don't wanna hold ya. But don't ya think this is all too much for us when I'll be leaving in less than a year?”

Shu looks down, Mademoiselle would have answered for him in what feels like a lifetime ago, but he can’t always depend on her—especially in times like these. 

“Well, Kiryu, isn't that better late than us never act upon something with a mutual hope?”

Kuro ponders this for a short period, but it feels like hours of silence between the two, the slowly increasing raindrops break into a symphony of pounding and painful wind howls, Shu feels himself begin to shake. Kuro inhales and exhales quickly, running through his mind.

“Itsuki, c’mere.”

Shu steps forward on command, as does Kuro. The closeness is warm, and it radiates off their bodies in tandem, and Shu’s thoughts definitely wanders. What could he say? He was a teenager, the bravado isn’t all that strong sometimes. 

Well, it certainly was fading away with the proximity of Kuro, or how his calloused hand was slowly coming to hold the side of Shu's face. What was this, the Princess Bride? Shu, determined to topple the empire of film industry with own weaving heart, truly, it was an artistic scene. Shu nags himself on considering art in such a moment, but it's snapped from his mind as kuro gently presses their lips against one another. 

It’s no Princess Diaries final kiss, it’s sloppy and immature, Kuro is pressing _slightly_ too hard against his face. It's nothing amazing, but practice makes perfect. The rain is still continuing, lighter again, but the sky is still dark, the streetlights make out Kuro in the late evening and as they both pull away, Shu’s hands on his chest and Kuro’s right arm holding onto his waist, it's scenic. Shu’s idealism of love had followed him around dearly, but perhaps Kuro was a little change he needed. Away from his dependency on Mademoiselle, who awaits him at home, and a thought process that isn't constantly worried if Kagehira is keeping himself alive! (It's not that he’s worried! He just wants to ensure Mika isn't breaking into fractions, that's all, the time spent caring for Mika maybe did things for his paternal instincts, you don't know him.) 

They stare for quite some time, words unspoken linger in the air, Kuro blinks when he's conscious of rain hitting their faces again, and while Shu has never considered to look past the acne in youth, and other imperfections, marks, the like on Kuro’s face; being brought so close makes him appreciate it more. Highly placed cheekbones, and oddly chiseled face. He’s still got noticeable blemishes, but who didn't? Shu could appreciate it well enough. The steady pink that’s flourishing over the tanned skin. Shu smiles, or at least, he feels himself do it unconsciously.

Kuro gently smiles too, Shu is assuming he does, anyways, it's rather dark out. But Kuro wastes no time in the lock of emerald and lavender to dive in for another kiss. It's much more gentle, _he’s learned quickly enough_ , Shu mentally remarks. Kuro avidly nibbles against Shu’s lower lip, which Shu decides is as proper this would get, before Kuro tilts Shu’s head back to deepen it further. Shu pulls away, a string of saliva connecting their embrace. The rain has slowed to a complete stop in the darkness, and Kuro moves to rest his hand over Shu’s.

“Kiryu, you don't need to walk me home anymore. I'm an adult you kn-”

Kuro deflates, “All this time, an’ you're still gonna be like this even after we kissed?”

Shu huffs, before turning to continue on the footbridge, “It's my personality, Kiryu, if you don't like it I believe our ‘spit swapping’ was decisive enough evidence that you enjoy it?” He looks back at Kuro with something more than a smirk, but beckons him forward with a wave of his hand.

“I thought ya didn't want me to walk ya home?”

Shu stops and considers his actions, mulling over how he responds, he takes a breath. “Regardless, come along. If you're intending to taking this into full responsibly then I expect you to hold my hand.”

Kuro can only sigh when he walks up to Shu and takes the pale hand in his own. They wander down the footbridge, down the stairs, and further into the city once more.

-

_8 months later_

-

“You know, Kuro, there’s more than one Japanese education development system. I'm sure one is properly catered to fit your needs and there is no need for you to needlessly cross oceans.”

Shu pets Mademoiselle’s hair idly, a motion of comfort as he walks alongside Kuro, the airport apparently doesn't face much traffic at two in the morning. Kuro’s suitcase rolling across the tile is a harsh reminder of Shu’s reality. The early morning is frigid, the airport moreso, Shu tugs at the tightness of his turtleneck. 

They reach the gate, Shu feels himself overcome with a rondo of whirlwind thrashed against his internal organs. He was practically sending Kuro off as a father does for his daughter before marriage. Perhaps not as similar to marriage as Shu will feel a gaping hole. He’s become more accustomed to his smartphone anyways, so it’s not as though they wouldn't talk, Shu simply prefers the artistic nature of mailing loving sonnets across oceans with a memory of home. Perhaps in a loving way it would be endearing despite their losses, both of them, Shu assumes. 

They stand idly watching the gate, a few people walk past them, Shu feels himself rest his hand on Mademoiselle’s small head in comfort, he can hear her voice ask him to tell Kuro to stay, she's insisted on staying quiet these days.

Kuro begins a sentence, but pauses to retract the statement. Shu feels the words heavy between them, but refuses to acknowledge them in the moment. There's still time before Kuro leaves, still time that they can use, if the only thing Shu will hear is goodbye before they call Kuro’s flight he don't think his heart will cease the anguish. 

And then the monotonous voice from the third floor of hell comes for his nape, and Shu feels the regret build in him. Mademoiselle is yelling at him but he tunes her voice out to only see Kuro’s lips move and then quirk into that familiar smile. The one that makes Shu’s stomach jump and cartwheel and he's never cartwheeled in his life, and he hasn't jumped in at least the last four years of his life—unless you count out the window, but that was different! It was for the arts!

Kuro’s voice comes back to Shu once he’s finished his mental scolding, Kuro gestures Shu to come closer, before they both walk to where Kuro is close enough to continue forward again. Kuro is holding his hand in his right, his suitcase in his left. Shu can feel the edge of Kuro's denim jacket on his hand from Kuro’s wrist. They stand offset of the exit together, where kuro takes off the dark wash jacket to let the hoodie underneath shuffle about his body. 

Kuro drapes it over Shu’s shoulders, planting a firm kiss against Shu’s forehead. The denim radiates Kuro’s scent and Shu doubts he'll wash it with that tropical softener he uses for his own clothes. Kuro continues to plant kisses against Shu’s head and forehead, however, gentle pecks that Shu can barely feel. 

Kuro looks into Shu’s eyes finally, and the two share a gentle kiss, it's long and it holds the pain he'll feel when apart. Shu uses his available hand to cup the side of Kuro’s face, Mademoiselle feels heavy in his left hand. The words he wishes to express are lodged so far down his throat he feels like they resonate in his lungs at the near bottom. Like a cancer he can't afford to let out, his hand shakes, but Kuro fills in the dots for him.

“I love you, Itsuki.”

Shu feels like crying, he really does. When that final call for Kuro’s flight is heard, Kuro pulls away. Shu’s hand holds onto Kuro’s jacket, his hand also tightens on Mademoiselle.

“Je t’aime.”

Kuro flashes the same smile, a little toothy but genuine when he hears Shu stumble around his words. He waves his hand a little, before shoving it into the light grey hoodie and running into the exit with his suitcase and bag. Shu turns to walk away, Kuro’s jacket over his shoulders and Mademoiselle delicately in his hand, he exits the airport into the lovely morning. 

With the jacket on his shoulders, the cool morning lacks it’s chill, and Shu is already planning his first waxing love letter to Kuro.

**Author's Note:**

> hi I didn't NAME Kuro's little sister cos I don't give a FUCK!!! idk man this was me bein sad tell me if u wanna see me drag kuro's personality more. also hi shu is nice to mika because self improvement and also not so focused on keeping miss madonee around bc he's getting better!! i WUV u mr shu
> 
> with love and my cold dead heart  
> chizu


End file.
